Quid Pro Quo
by AlienAgainstTheWorld
Summary: It started with a game. An innocent way of furthering the conversation. There was no way to know how deep it would lead, and what bonds it would bind, revealing the scars beneath. A Cedric Diggory lives story.
1. The Game

**Hello everybody. Yes, its conorlover again. I wasn't planning on writing anything but Marriage of Convenience, but this idea just popped into my head and was _too_ good to resist, so I, like the glutton I am, ate it up.**

**A couple of warnings. The Hermione in this story is not traditional. That is, she is not an innocent little virgin who doesn't understand anything. She is a shrewd, independent woman who has her own ideas and thoughts. She is not lead around on a leash by other people. She is open to ideas that may not seem canon, like blackmail. She is capable of, and does utilise deception.**

**I hope you will accept her. Any queries can immediately be PM'ed to me, or sent in the form of reviews. (Yes, I am still a shameless review hussy)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Or Celestina Warbeck. However, I do own The American University of Magic and Golker & Galkio. **

**Be sure to review!**** (oh yes, absolutely shameless)**

**~conorlover~**

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Chapter 1

The Game

The corridor was cream. That was the first thing she noticed.

Her robes, a cross between forest green and black, were startlingly dark against the pale walls of the corridor. The dark seemed like a blot, a blemish.

Just like she was.

The door was mahogany, an expensive set carved to the point of perfection which complimented the cream. Not surprising, considering that the man she was about to meet had one of the largest inheritances in Britain. She wondered what he was doing here when there was no need for him to slave away like this.

She took a deep breath. Thoughts were unimportant now. She was here for a reason, and she would fulfill it, because she had promised somebody and because she was tired of breaking promises.

She opened the door and stepped in.

Cedric Diggory liked to believe that he had a normal life.

He was extremely rich, considering the fact that both his parents were purebloods and had the good fortune to come from families where gold was abundant. He had always been good at Quidditch, captaining his house team for a few years back at school. He was an excellent student, the pride of his house and the favorite of every teacher, excepting a select few, the most obvious of which were Snape and Umbridge. He had passed out with excellent grades and had immediately been offered a job at the Ministry, declining it to instead earn an Advanced Transfiguration degree in the States, where his current subject, Psychology, had attracted him. He had left his course midway and joined Psychology, in which he had majored at the American University of Magic, and then promptly returned to Britain, where he had spent a well-deserved summer break at his parents' mansion before joining in on an extremely prestigious post in St. Mungo's.

He went out for a healthy game of Quidditch every Saturday, dining with his parents on the way back, and reserved Sunday night for dinner and later with a special woman, who invariably changed every fortnight.

Now at twenty four, he was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in Wizarding Britain, along with one of the pioneers in his field, already amongst the topmost leaders. He was a good friend of many senior level dignitaries in the Ministry, and was considered a prime runner for the Minister of Magic in later years considering his affinity for politics.

Yes, Cedric Diggory had done very well for himself indeed. There was almost nothing to show his encounter with the now-former Dark Lord seven years ago. His life was completely normal, his patients, regular. They were textbook cases, and easily marked by tendencies earlier on in their lives. They were completely passé.

Which is why he was surprised to see the name of a former schoolmate of his on his black work ledger one morning, scheduled for 10 'o' clock on Monday morning.

Startled, he had walked into his receptionist's office, a tiny room adjacent to his own that, however, had several hear-me-not charms placed on it. He valued his clients' privacy beyond anything.

"Hannah," he had said to the blonde dozing at the desk, who had abruptly woken up. "Are you sure that you got my 10 'o' clock Monday right?"

Hannah Abbott sniffed. "Of course I did! Have you ever noticed me to make a mistake in the entire time that I've been working for you, Cedric?"

"No," he admitted. "But I'm just a little surprised. I mean, its…" He had trailed off, unable to find the right words to continue.

Hannah had sniffed again. "Fine, let me check," she had said, opening the worn ledger lying on her desk and flipping through it magically. "Monday ten 'o' clock. Hmmm… my notes say that this patient was directly referred by Healer MacMillan on the behest of the director of the Quibbler, Luna Lovegood. The name of the patient is…" she trailed off, looking at the name scribbled on the yellow page. "Oh my God. Oh my GOD."

Cedric had gestured in a frustrated manner. "I know."

Now, at 9:57 on Monday morning, he sat nervously, waiting for his patient. She had, back in school, had a habit of being extremely punctual, so he was almost sure that she wouldn't be late. He fastened his tie a bit more securely – it contrasted, and yet blended in, with his expensive Golker & Galkio suit, while perfectly accentuating his slightly-messed-up-but-its-on-purpose hair. He didn't know why he felt such a pressure to dress well – he did not know her personally, to be sure, but he had heard that expensive and well-cut clothes were to her taste, and as she held a lot of clout within the Ministry, he was hoping to find another ally in his already well-supported foothold in the Ministry.

The door started swinging open. Panicking, he shot a glance at the clock. It was 9:59! The appointment hadn't even officially started yet! And she was already here. All the blood drained out of his face. What was he thinking, dressing up like a prat? He would never be able to make a good impression on her, she was already considered an extremely hard woman to please, and yet he had the nerve –

The door swung open halfway.

Suddenly, instinct came rushing back to Cedric. This was why he had chosen psychology, because he had such an indefinable connection with it, an ability to rationalize himself and focus only on solving the other's problem. Long years of hard work spending time with his patients, patiently working out their problems, helping them find the answer had instilled a calm personality, however temporary, into Cedric. In an instant, the woman at the door was not an extremely important personage in the Wizarding World. She was just another soul who needed his help.

The door swung wide open. She stood in the doorway, coolly composed, brown eyes narrowed into slits, sleek brown hair held in a manner of authority and grace, chin held high.

He smiled and stood up. "Welcome, Mrs. Weasley."

It was odd how he had feared her approach at first.

Not that she wasn't intimidating. She was physically petite, but her strong, unwavering gaze and determined posture made up for it. She wasn't a classic beauty, but her heart-shaped face showed a strange kind of spiritual and mental strength that made her incomparably attractive. There was something in those eyes which showed the pain she had been through and the strength with which she had erased it, rising up from the ashes to become resplendent. Like a phoenix.

But it was so obvious that she was here not for intimidating him, but because of something else. Her eyes gazed at him, and he had the queerest feeling that she didn't want to be here, but she was.

He shook it off and offered the plate of macaroons that Hannah had just placed in front of them, backing out with a curious stare. He had wondered if she would acknowledge Hannah – they were in the same year, just in different houses – but she had glanced at the girl once and then continued her probing glance into him.

Her stare was so intense he almost wondered if she was performing Legimency on him.

She shook her head slightly, saying "No, thank you," in a clear, bell-like voice. It was the first thing she had said since entering his office. "I am trying to avoid carbohydrates right now, and I am afraid this would be an indulgence."

He nodded. It was time. "So, Mrs. Weasley, why have you decided to come here?"

She cut him off. "I did not _decide _to come here. It was simply a promise made to someone else. I have no wish whatsoever to be here. I do not see the point."

He nodded again. So she was of the type who believed that counseling was absolutely useless. Never mind. She had not told him her problem yet. He would extract it out of her. He had seen these kinds of patients before. The trick was to start with mundane problems, such as why didn't they believe in counseling. He would make another question based on their answer. Gradually, the patient would become so comfortable in his presence that he would spill his innermost thoughts. "Tell me, why are you reluctant to come here?"

"I do not see the point. It is nigh impossible to spill one's thoughts to a stranger. If one abstains from their closest friends, then what chance does a stranger have? And this ploy won't work on me, Mr. Diggory. I have read about this in books. The Webster solution, isn't it? Start with small things, gradually increasing the level, making the victim open his heart to you. I'm afraid you will find me of a higher standard than that."

He smiled grimly. She had seen straight through it. Never mind – the ploy had brought one thing to the forefront. She thought of herself as the 'victim' here. And there was always one other solution. He suspected she would see through anything he tried, but this one was so straightforward, there was nothing to hide. "I see. Clever, Mrs. Weasley. This is the first time anyone has seen through this strategy under my watch. I suspect you will see through any ploy I throw at you. So we are stuck here without a solution. We are going to meet here every Monday and discuss mundane things over a cup of tea and macaroons for an hour, and at the end pleasant say out goodbyes and part, I richer and you poorer. I could do this, but it will make me feel slight boredom, not to mention that I would feel guilty about ripping you off. So I have a plan. Let us play a game."

Her eyebrows touched the ceiling. "A game?"

"Yes, a game. It is one of my personal favourites. It is called Quid Pro Quo."

"Quid Pro Quo? Something for something? What do you mean, Mr. Diggory?"

"The rules of the game are simple. I share a piece of my life, pertaining solely to me, with you. It has to be a little known fact. You are free to ask me questions on that topic, but it is up to me whether to answer them or not. Then, as payment, you are to share your own piece of information. Again, the same rules apply. Then the same cycle begins again. This way, we go one sharing covert bits of information with each other."

She looked intrigued. "And pray tell, Mr. Diggory, just why would I be induced to play such a game?"

He was unabashed. "Because something tells me that sitting in a room for an hour discussing nothing but Celestina Warbeck's latest love song is not your ideal pass time."

She laughed. "And because you are a shameless hussy."

"Absolutely. Anything for learning the secrets of a pretty lady like you, Mrs. Weasley."

She glanced up at the clock. He saw with a pang of disappointment that surprised him, that it was already eleven. "I am intrigued. I wonder what secrets a handsome young psychologist can possibly have?" she said, standing up to get her coat.

"I assure you, Mrs. Weasley, I will reveal to you the full horrors of how I single handedly made the Crumpled-Horned Snorcack extinct," he said, standing up.

She let out a peel of laughter. "I am not sure Luna would appreciate that," she said, stepping outside. "I hope to see you next week, Mr. Diggory." And with that, she stepped out of his line of sight, neatly leaving the door open. He sighed and looked down at his desk. Whew.

"And one more thing," she said, stepping back into sight. He started, jerking his head up to see her smiling at him. "Mrs. Weasley makes me sound like my mother-in-law. While she is perfectly lovely, I do adore to visualize myself as a twenty-two year old instead of a middle aged matron, so it would be perfect if you called me Hermione instead."

And then she walked out, this time closing the door.

Cedric Diggory collapsed onto his chair, burying his head in his hands and letting out a sigh of exhaustion.

Just what had he gotten himself into?

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**This is my very first attempt at writing Harry Potter fanfiction. How was it? Hopefully not deserving rotten tomatoes (ducks head just in case). Please review and tell me how you liked it.**

**~conorlover~**


	2. Introductions

**Well, this is a pretty fast update for me! Thank you so much for your reviews. I checked the stats, and they were amazing. **

**Also, I would like to clarify just one thing. I am still wondering about who to pair Hermione up with in this story, so I think that all the readers should know that it may not necessarily be Cedric. Okay, it's probably be 99% Cedric, but there's a mystery bloke.**

**Please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**~conorlover~**

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Chapter 2

Introductions

Slowly, slowly, she slid the arm of her expensive robe up, revealing the smooth surface beneath. Or what should have been smooth. Now, it was mottled with several long, fresh pink scars, around which her skin throbbed angrily.

He would be very angry if he saw her skin like this. He had loved her arms, called them the arms of a 'nymph', pale and milky.

But he had also ruined her life, her family, and her reputation, not to mention his own.

But she was still addicted to him.

She knew that, because every time she closed her eyes, she could see his face, his lips, his chest, his brilliant eyes. He had made her feel complete, every time that man, that horrible man, had torn her down, had humiliated and ruined her.

But now she was ruined. And so was he.

And it was all her fault.

Picking up a thin blade from the counter in front of her, she gently drew it across the formerly pristine skin of her elbow.

Red blossomed.

Penelope Clearwater opened her make-up box, applied a deep scarlet lipstick to her plump, artificially enhanced lips, and then, closing her box with a snap, proceeded to continue with her job which was doing absolutely nothing.

Her boss was late today, as she had been for every Monday for the past few months. Nobody could complain, though – the woman worked all through the day, sometimes staying around the clock, _and _worked on weekends. She was a superwoman.

Penelope had been terrified to work for her at first, scared that the woman would make her stay back with her and do just as much work, but soon it appeared that her boss didn't like to leave work at the hands of others. So Penelope rarely had anything to do apart from sitting around and staring at the people passing by.

She wasn't complaining though. She wasn't stupid. Although her boss's attitude made her sometimes feel unwanted and incompetent, she wasn't going to screw her position up as an assistant (basically receptionist) to the Head of the Department for Magical International Affairs. Why, she was the first person from her class to get up this high, if you didn't count Percy Weasley, who had become Assistant to old Barty Crouch years ago, and was now leading the Department for Magical Co-operation. It made her regret dumping him sometimes, because, even if he was a pompous brat and a twit, his family was still _very _close to the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and enjoyed some definite advantages. His position was, after all, a definite up to her current boyfriend's, Roger Davies, who was NOT enjoying himself at the level of Junior Reporter at the Daily Prophet. Being subject to his writing, Penelope was still wondering why they agreed to employ him at all.

She sighed, and resigned herself to a day of watching passer-by's and listening to gossip. Not that the latter wasn't a very exciting option – after all, it did reveal some exciting tidbits of information about her colleagues. Like how her boss's husband was so obviously cheating on her with his old girlfriend – there were rumors that she had even agreed to become his mistress! Penelope wasn't surprised – although they had reportedly been friends for years, her boss was a high-level Ministry employee, while her husband was a popular Quidditch player. Their temperaments didn't hit off. Even so, she admitted that the husband was a fool – although her boss was pushy and demanding, she often surprised Penelope by kind gestures, such as sending flowers to her when she had been in St. Mungo's after a teapot bit her, or offering to pay for her mother's operation. Sure, she was insanely rich, but still, how many people offered to do that?

Also, she had that quiet, understated beauty which flashier girls like the one hanging on above Quidditch player's arm overshadowed. She was no doubt a shrewd and cunning woman, but there was a quality to her which made you respect her without doubt.

Lately, however, she had been looking more harassed than ever. A few months ago, she had actually fainted in office, and her friend, an insane editor, had come to pick her up. After that, she was late every Monday.

Penelope didn't blame her – the rumour that was currently doing the rounds was one that was heart-shattering for every woman. Apparently, her boss's husband had moved out of their house, was living with his girlfriend (mistress?) and was demanding a divorce.

Her faded blue eyes suddenly caught sight of a petite woman in navy robes walking towards her. It was her boss!

She stood up, automatically smoothing her hair, and smiled, saying "Good morning, Mrs. Weasley."

Her boss walked inside her office, with a murmured "Good morning, Penelope."

She sighed, sat down, and watched her boss, Hermione Weasley, nee Granger, walk inside her room.

Cedric Diggory was absolutely frustrated.

His newest patient, Hermione Weasley, one of the top officials in the Ministry of Magic, was proving a very difficult nut to crack. She had been coming every week for the past three months, and yet had anything to mention about the real reason she was attending at all.

Oh, she was very enjoyable, to be sure. Their little game made him feel breathless with excitement, like a child once again. He was giddy with euphoria every time she initiated it, eager to hear her little anecdotes, and delirious to tell her his own, to listen to her intelligent, sarcastic, and endearing questions.

But professionally, he felt like a complete and utter failure. He had never met a patient who was so completely determined on avoiding the subject, and was quite nonplussed. At first, he had thought that she would give up after a few sessions, two or three at the most, break down and tell him everything. But she had persevered with an almost religious devotion, strictly steering the conversation back to non-dangerous zones.

That was why he had been forced to resort to methods like the one he was going to use now. Usually he never contacted anyone even remotely affiliated with the patient, in order to avoid distressing them, but then again, he had never quite come up against this kind of patient before either.

He had written to one of his previous teachers at the University, asking them for advice. The wise old man had advised him to give her time. She would eventually break down, he had said.

He had given her time. And it hadn't worked. And he was so tired of seeing those chestnut eyes that tried so hard, but couldn't really succeed at hiding the fear and trepidation that his inside them. So he would have to do this his own way.

He stepped up to the door and knocked. It was decorated with various types of garlic and something that resembled a green onion. The office staff had directed him to it, warning him not to step closer than 5 inches to the door. He had obeyed their instructions without a shred of incredulousness – he had met this particular person before, and her habits were legendary in Hogwarts.

A faint voice called out musically from inside "Come in."

He opened the door and walked inside, careful to avoid the patch of mushrooms that appeared to be sprouting near the entrance.

"Cedric," the blond-haired girl said, smiling.

"Luna," he acknowledged.

Luna Lovegood was a pale slip of a girl with pale blonde hair, silver eyes, and palest skin ever seen on a human being. Her father Xenophilius Lovegood had run this office before her, and had also been a former schoolmate of his father, and one who had once, inadvertently saved his life, so visits from the Lovegoods were not infrequent. Combined with the fact that the Lovegoods lived barely a couple of miles from his estate (in a bizarre, tower-like building), Cedric had been quite familiar with them in his early years.

Luna was three years younger to him, and he had been in his third year at Hogwarts when she had arrived. Basking in his newfound popularity, especially among the girls, he had failed to notice, or rather, ignored, the amount of bullying that the more-than-a-little-unusual girl had to go through. It was something that he had regretted later in life, but never found the object to rectify.

The object of his thoughts gestured for him to sit on one of the large, clawed arm-chairs that were placed in front of her rather bizarre, feathered desk. He obliged, stopping for barely a millisecond before to inspect the chair as to where it was free of all Unidentified Magical Objects.

Luna smiled, and, conjuring an eye-watering yellow teacup from nowhere, proceeded to pour them both tea – or at least he presumed it was tea, he was never sure with Luna – which she later pushed towards him. Politely, he took a sip of the concoction, nearly gagging – it was absolutely _vile._

"Tasty, isn't it?" Luna inquired. "It's Daddy's Gurdyroot soup. It's quite a rage among our neighbours – everyone wants the recipe."

Cedric nodded as he tried to choke down the tea – his mother had taught him to be polite, and spitting out the tea, or whatever it was, would definitely break the rules of etiquette, no matter how vile the liquid in question was.

"So, was Hermione really so difficult that you had to come to me to find out the answer?"

He really did choke this time, staring at her in amazement. "How did you - " he stopped midsentence. Luna had a knack for these things. "Never mind. And yes, she was. She won't tell me a thing, Luna. How am I supposed to treat her if I don't know anything?"

Luna nodded. "I understand, Cedric, but I'm afraid that I can't tell you anything. I don't know anything myself, you see. She won't tell me."

"And you're honestly telling me that you know nothing?" Cedric's voice was challenging. Luna knew and sensed everything.

Her pale silver eyes narrowed. "I have my suspicions," she admitted. "However, those are certainly none of your business. If Hermione wanted you to know, she would have told you. And as it is, I don't know for sure, either. They are, after all, just suspicions."

Cedric hung his head, guilt creeping up on him for having invaded Hermione's privacy. "I'm sorry, Luna."

"It's alright." He looked up to see her smiling down at him. "I understand that you were curious. It could happen to anybody."

He nodded his head once again, still feeling guilty.

"Now that that's over, and you're here…" Luna continued. "I might as well tell you about Gurdyroots, right?" She beamed.

An hour later, Cedric Diggory appeared from the office of Luna Lovegood, Editor of The Quibbler, with his hair mussed and the first few buttons on his shirt undone. He was walking almost at a run, and with a desperate look on his face.

The staff didn't even bat an eyelash. They were far too used to this for it to be a novelty.

Working with Luna Lovegood had its oddities.

Lavender Brown pouted in front of the mirror as she tried to find out the perfect expression for her current outfit.

Her darling Ronnykins was due home soon from practice, and although the chances of his coming without partying first were slim, she still wanted to be ready.

She brushed her hot pink miniskirt and tube top as she went downstairs, stopping at every mirror to admire herself. She looked gorgeous, her blonde hair done up, exposing her ample cleavage to the man she loved most.

Her current residence was a luxurious apartment, with two floors, filled with the most priceless memorabilia and trinkets. Money, after all, wasn't a problem – Ronnykins was the star keeper of the Puddlemere United, and got a monthly salary that was what millions of people earned in a year. Then there were advertisements, sponsorships, public appearances… oh yes, money definitely wasn't a problem.

Ronnykins should be coming home soon now. Yes, home. Not to that awful place he shared with the Granger bitch. He didn't know what had happened between them, but one day Won-Won had appeared at the door late at night – startling her, because he was usually there only in the evenings – and hadn't left since. She hadn't pushed. She was just too delighted to find out that he had finally moved in with her.

Some people would call Lavender Brown a homebreaker, or a mistress. She preferred to call herself 'Ronnykins' one true love."

She settled down to wait for her love to come home.

Neville Longbottom was confused.

For the past few days, something had been out of sorts with the people he called friends. He had been training in Belgium under a renown Herbologist, Walter Wimplings, and had been unable to come home for several months. When he did, he found that everything had gone to hell.

Ron had moved out of the house he and Hermione shared together into Lavender Brown's apartment. Ginny was temporarily staying with Mrs. Weasley at the Burrow, Harry also having vacated their house to stay at the Leaky Cauldron. Neville had gone to the Burrow the other day for dinner, and the moment he had mentioned Hermione and Harry, a dark cloud seemed to have descended over the whole party. Luna was refusing to tell him anything, Harry was avoiding the subject and jumping like a rabbit whenever he mentioned Hermione or Ginny's name, and Hermione was refusing to meet him altogether.

Luna had told him not to push. "She's going through a tough time right now, Neville," the gentle blonde had said.

Neville was sure she was, but how was he supposed to live without knowing what had gone wrong with his best friends? There was obviously something tearing them apart.

Neville knew, that despite the fact that they seemed impermeable, his friends were actually extremely emotionally fragile. While Ginny and Harry were still somewhat stable, Ron's promiscuous, irresponsible behavior was a toll on their marriage. Instead of confronting him about it and insisting that he spend some time to mend their marriage, though, Hermione had instead chosen to delve even deeper into her work. Both of them were to fault for their failing marriage, which was obvious not only to their closest friends, but also to the entire Wizarding Britain.

Harry and Ginny, however, were still considered the 'Golden Couple', and rumours of a break between the two was highly unprecedented. Neville could not, for the life of him, think of a reason as to why it should be happening. They had been dating since his sixth year, and there had been no 'other woman' like Lavender Brown in their relationship.

Now, sitting in his sizeable apartment in Diagon Alley, Neville thought of the consequences of a possible break between the two couples.

If Ron and Hermione divorced, then he would be equally torn between his two friends. Yes, Hermione had helped him much before Ron had, but Ron had performed his own fair share. Ron had been to blame at first, but Hermione had also turned her head the other way instead of confronting the problem head-on. He could not take a side in this fray.

But he was perfectly sure that if indeed a split between Harry and Ginny took place, he would be on Ginny's side. Not that Harry had done any wrong, or never taken care of him, but simply because, ever since his 4th year, when he had asked her to the Yule Ball, he had been in love with Ginny Weasley.

It had broken his heart when she had married Harry, but he had thought that at least she would be happy with the man who loved her. But, if Harry hurt her, he swore to God, past acts of kindness forgotten, he would turn Harry Potter's life miserable.

He knew that Ginny didn't love him. She saw him just as a friend. He had never worked up the courage to face her, knowing that she was in love with Harry. She had regretted coming to the Yule Ball with him when the choice of going with Harry had appeared. He didn't blame her – who would a girl prefer? A bumbling idiot who couldn't pass in Potions, or a Dark-Lord-defeating boy?

But that didn't stop the yearning.

Lucy Diggory was an absolutely lovely woman, her colleagues claimed. Of course, this was mostly out of fear that she would inflict torture upon them otherwise.

Truth was, that Lucy Diggory was a frightful woman. She was loyal to her cause and her husband, and loved her son. But she was also frightening, simply because she would kill anyone who caused the least bit of harm to her son.

Right now, looking at her son's limp form, she couldn't help but worry. He had seemed slightly out of sorts when he had visited last Saturday, but today was _Monday_, and he was home. This alone was enough to frighten her.

"Cedric," she said tentatively. "Darling, are you sure that you don't want something to eat?"

Her son lifted his pale, ashen face from the counter on which it was planted face-down, and then said, with eyes slightly unfocused "Did you know that Gurdyroots can poison a yak but is an energy drink for humans?"

"What?"

"Gurdyroots are amazing…" he was drooling.

She was alarmed now. "Ced, what's wrong? Did you eat something funny?"

He giggled "Gurdyroot juice. Tastes absolutely vile, mother. I had 24 cups."

"Gurdyroots? Wait, isn't that what the Love-"

"I was visiting Luna," His eyes were pointing in different directions.

"Oh, dear." Lucy sighed.

Cedric slid to the ground in a dead faint.

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**So? How was it? Please, please review and tell me. Suggestions for my writing style are very welcome - you can PM them to me anytime. Has anyone guessed who is the person that the lady in the beginning of the chapter is talking about?**

**~conorlover~**


	3. I wonder'

**Hola, everyone!**

**So I'm really glad with the response to this story. Some of you may have noticed that I changed the characters from Cedric and Hermione to simply Hermione. This is because I am not yet sure as to whether I should pair our lovely Ms. Granger with Mr. Diggory, or with the other man who haunts her. Can you guess who that might be?**

**Also, I am very sorry for the lack of breaks between different perspectives in the former chapters. I usually put asterisks, but this time our lovely decided to delete them, so here I am...**

**Anyway, not to keep you waiting any longer. The new chapter. Read. Review. Make my day. Get an update. You know the routine.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Unless I can magically occupy JKR's body, I never will.**

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Chapter 3

'I Wonder…'

He was always present in her dreams.

His eyes would gleam with mischief and love as he would put his arms around her. She would lean in, and tell him that she loved him.

But he would fade, replaced with the angry countenance of the one man whom she hated beyond reason. She would scream and wish for him to come back, but that awful persona would laugh and take him away…

She always woke up screaming, searching the bed for him.

He was always there to sooth her fears away.

But not now. Now everything was lost. And she could never have him again.

* * *

"Stubbing a toe doesn't count."

Cedric leaned back into his chair, grinning "Sure it does. Nobody else knew about it."

"Fine then. Why don't I tell you about the time I cut my nails?"

He felt his grin fade. Damn, but she was good. "Fine," he said, conceding defeat. "When I was in fifth year, I tried to ask Millicent Bulstrode out."

She gaped. "BULSTRODE? You mean the Bulstrode who was in my year? The troll-lookalike?"

"Yeah, that one," he said, smug at the idea of having surprised her. It was always a victory when she had so many more anecdotes than him.

"Well…" she seemed nonplussed. "But why?"

His grin faded. "Love potion," he growled.

She threw back her pretty head and laughed. He swatted her arm indignantly, but she moved out of the way and said, tauntingly, "Cedric and Millicent sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes marria-"

"What's that?" he asked, intrigued in spite of himself. Her Muggle upbringing often revealed parts of her that he was unfamiliar with, having grown up in a pureblood household.

"Oh dear, I forgot that you don't sing rhymes like that," she said, wiping her eyes. "Forget it, it's just a silly little rhyme that someone made up to annoy other people."

He nodded, accepting her words. "It's your turn now."

She sighed, expression turning into one of deep thought. "All right, here's one. In my sixth year, I finally started to make my move on Ron. I even asked him to Slughorn's Christmas Party – he's the Potion's Master, you know, and a rather odd one too – and he said yes. Then I found him snogging Lavender Brown in the Common Room, and I totally lost my temper. I ran out, and Harry came after me, and managed to calm me down a little. At that moment, of course, Ron had to appear in the classroom we were sitting in, _with _Lavender Brown."

"What happened?" he asked, eager to hear the whole story. Not only did it sound hilarious, but it also included Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Lavender Brown – people she usually liked to avoid mentioning. "What did you do?"

"Nothing at all. I calmly got up and walked out of the room. And then I sent a flock of canaries at him."

"A what?"

"A flock of canaries," she said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

He guffawed loudly, leaning back in his chair. The idea of the star Keeper of Puddlemere United being chased around by a flock of canaries was just too hilarious to be real.

"He had pockmarks for weeks," she continued, smugly.

He wiped the tears from his eyes "You guys always had a rather tempestuous relationship, didn't you?"

"From the very beginning. Did I tell you how we – no, you tell me first."

"Agreed. When I was a kid in Second Year, I had this tendency of oversleeping."

She nodded, brown curls bouncing wildly. "Go on."

"One day, Flitwick lost his temper at me and told me to meet him at his office at 6:30 sharp, or he was going to make me responsible for the loss of several house points. So I wound up 15 alarm clocks and somehow managed to wake up on time. Of course, drowsy with sleep that I was, I calmly walked out of my dorm, out the portrait hole, and into the nearest washroom available."

She looked slightly mystifies, as if she couldn't figure out where this story was leading. "So?"

"I did my morning job, and then calmly walked out of the stall and collided with Professor McGonagall. In my hurry to get to a washroom, I had accidently walked into the Ladies Staff washroom."

Her mouth was hanging open now.

"I said, 'Good morning, Professor.' She had the queerest look on her face. I calmly ducked under her arm, went back to my dorm, and pulled the covers over my head."

She started laughing now, the peals of her bell-like laughter echoing throughout his room.

"It was only later that I remembered that she was wearing a hot pink dressing gown."

She was fairly rolling on the floor now. Figuratively, of course.

"Your turn," he said, pleased to have outdone her again.

She swiped at her eyes. "All right. On my first day at Hogwarts, I was sitting alone in my compartment, when the door opens and this boy looking for his toad wanders in. That was Neville. Longbottom, you know."

He nodded. Longbottom had once helped him on a Herbology essay. It had been humiliating to accept help from a boy that was 2 years his junior, but he had been stymied, and Longbottom had wagered some information unknowingly. That was the day he had realized that the quiet, nervous boy was actually a genius in Herbology.

"He was looking for Trevor, his pet toad. He never could keep track of him, even years later. So anyway, he was nearly in tears, and I tried to help him. We wandered through all the compartments, and asked every single person if they had seen a toad. In the process, we came across Harry and Ron."

He was intrigued.

"I recognized Harry at once, of course. His scar was _all _over the books I had read. So I decided to introduce myself to him. Turns out he didn't know half the things about himself that _I _knew about him."

He chuckled, just imagining an eleven-year old Potter looking confused while an equally young Hermione prattled on and on about him. She smiled, and then continued her story. "Ron, however, was another story. He had his pet rat, Scabbers, on his lap, and had his wand out. Being the naturally curious person that I am, I asked him to perform the magic. He recited something that was suspiciously like 'Sunshine daisies butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow,' and then put his wand back in his pocket."

"And what happened?"

"Absolutely nothing."

He broke out into gales of laughter, imagining the exact scene in front of his mind. How he wished that he had been there when these events took place. "The Valentine's Day of my 7th year, I took Cho out on the Hogsmeade weekend."

She winced. "I remember a story from that, but I'll wait until you finish first."

"I don't know if you remember Susan Bones. She was in your year, in Hufflepuff. Anyway, she had decided to call a Quidditch practice right on 2 'o' clock."

Her mouth was beginning to form a round 'O'.

"Cho wanted to go to Madame Puddifoot's, so I took her there. I don't know if you've ever been there, but it is an absolutely beastly place – stupid confetti and heart-shaped bubbles everywhere. I hated it, but she wanted it, so we went there."

He paused for a second, remembering Cho's insistence, her particular _need_ to have everything her way, and felt revulsion rise up in his mind.

"She was acting weird all through. Roger Davies and his girlfriend were sitting next to us, with their tongues down each others' throat, and she kept on talking about how Roger had wanted her to come with him to Hogsmeade on Valentine's weekend. I thought it was odd, but I didn't say anything. Then I told her that I would have to leave early for Quidditch practice, and she completely freaked out."

Hermione nodded sympathetically, her mahogany curls bouncing along with her.

"She started crying, and yelling something about how I never spent any time with her, and then she stormed out of the restaurant."

"I can see than," Hermione said sympathetically. "I never did understand why all the guys liked her."

The distaste in her voice and her words startled him. "_All_ the guys?"

She suddenly looked guilty, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do you remember when you asked Harry to double date with you and Cho?"

"Yeah…. He said something about finishing an essay for Snape, then detention, and Quidditch practice. He never did go out with us, but I saw him in Hogsmeade one day when he was supposed to be serving detention."

She looked even guiltier. "Truth is, Harry didn't want to go out with you and Cho."

"Why?" Cedric was puzzled.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Because he's liked Cho since his third year."

Cedric's mouth fell open. "Oh…. Crap. Oh shit. I can't believe I asked him all those times. He must have thought that I was taunting him or something. Oh shit."

Hermione nodded sadly, but then suddenly jerked her head to the wall, where the clock had just struck 11 'o' clock. Standing up fluidly, she bid Cedric good bye, and then walked out, all in the space of about five seconds.

Cedric stared after her stupidly.

He had still made no progress with her. He had deduced, by the obvious gossip going around, and some of the trashy tabloids floating around the market, that the problem evidently had its roots in her relationship with her husband. What struck him as odd, however, was her obvious reluctance to speak about Harry Potter or Ginny Potter. There was certainly no obvious rift between them, and she had no hesitation in talking about Luna or Longbottom, so it was slightly perturbing. Luna had already refused to tell him anything, and he didn't know Longbottom well enough to ask, so he was stuck.

Cedric Amos Diggory was stuck.

He was seriously beginning to wonder if he should have refused to take her case. She was the most alluring woman he had ever met, but her elusiveness was proving bad for his career. His rivals would never let him let it down. Not to talk about how his mentors would be disappointed in him. His image as a young, successful, brilliant psychologist would be shattered, all because of one single woman who was determined not to let him know what her problem was.

He had made a list at home, in a frustrated attempt to make head or tail of her. She had either come because of problems at work, which was highly unlikely considering her high, respected position in the Ministry, and how close she seemed to be with Minister Shacklebolt, or because of a personal problem. He was leaning towards the latter. But in that category, there were multiple situations. The most obvious one would be the situation with her husband, but her reluctance to speak about her other, reportedly close friends, showed a deeper side. Perhaps they had taken her husband's side? Ronald Weasley was brother to Ginny Potter, of course, and he knew very well how powerful family loyalty could be. Maybe her friends had abandoned her, and she was avoiding talking about them because she was angry? He was usually a good reader of a person's thoughts and feelings based on their facial expressions and body movement, but Hermione Granger was otherworldly. The only thing he had been able to deduce until now was that she was very obviously in pain.

He wished he could help her. He wished she would open up to him.

* * *

His eyes opened, the frail lids widening to reveal the bright irises below. He was momentarily disoriented, but then realized that he was lying on an unfamiliar bed. He was frightened – had _they _come again? But no, they were gone, and he had come here of his own volition.

He wondered where she was, if she would talk to him now, or if she was still avoiding him. He wished she would come to him – she was hurting so much, his beloved, all because of _that man_, who had broken her heart, crushed her. But he had picked up the pieces, put her back together, and kept her close to his heart.

But she wasn't here now. She probably thought she was protecting him by staying away, but she was tearing him apart, ruining him. How could he live without her?

He stood up and caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall. His chest was bare, revealing several scars on a torso that had been, a decade ago, free of any blemish whatsoever. But the War had taken a lot out of him, leaving him with skewed ideals, and her.

He needed her. Just as much as she needed him.

He felt a familiar ache in his chest, present ever since she had married _that man. _It only disappeared when he was with her.

But she was avoiding him. And he would never be able to be with her again.

* * *

As owner of one of the most popular inns in Wizarding England, Tom had seen many odd people come and go. Banshees, ghouls, hags, even goblins were not uncommon. However, his current tenant was the most surprising of them all.

It was not as if he had not stayed here before – Tom distinctly remembered that the man, then a boy, had been dropped off by Cornelius Fudge, the then Minister of Magic. There had been some hocus pocus about underage magic, Sirius Black, and, inexplicably, the Knight Bus. Tom had been curious, but had minded his tongue, aware of his place. It was the same thing he did now, as he hobbled up to the tenant's room.

The door swung open just as he was about to reach for it, revealing a young man with ebony hair, wearing only pajamas and a shirt obviously just pulled on. His hair stuck in every which direction, and his green eyes had dark circles underneath them.

Tom clucked his tongue sympathetically. "Not able to sleep well again, Mr. Potter?"

The young man yawned. "I'm afraid not, Tom. I took the Sleeping Draught that you gave me, but it didn't do much work. I just caught a few winks when the sun came up."

"Perhaps a potion for Dreamless Sleep…" Tom suggested. Harry Potter's wellbeing was of utmost importance. The ebony haired man simply shook his head. "I don't think my body's willing to sleep now, to be honest."

"Well, then, Mr. Potter, is there anything I can do for you?" Tom asked in a businesslike tone. Saviour or not, this man was his customer, and service always came first.

The young man grinned. "Well, if you could have a plate of bacon and eggs sent upstairs…" he trailed off.

"Understood. I'll have it sent upstairs immediately. Will there be anything else?" Seeing the young man shake his head, he swiftly bowed, surprisingly gracefully, and then hobbled down the stairs.

He wondered what Mr. Potter was doing here. He lived in a large villa in the Somerset countryside with his wife, after all. Apparently, he had wanted to move in Godric's Hollow after marriage, but his wife had protested, so they had bought a mansion in Somerset. Now, however, he was here, in London, in Diagon Alley, and he spent the entire day in his room, not even coming out once. He wondered what was going on.

The War had taken a toll on Harry Potter and his friends, but they had made up. Tom had been glad to hear of Mr. Potter and Ms. Weasley's wedding, and also to hear of Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger's wedding. Soon after that, however, everything had gone to hell.

Mr. Weasley had been accepted into the Puddlemere United as the Keeper, and had immediately become very famous. With the fame however, he had to pay a price – his relationship with the new Mrs. Weasley. The enormous amount of female fans, his full schedule, and her working hours made it nigh impossible for them to spend any time with each other, which took a toll on their relationship. Soon after, Mr. Weasley had started a _very _public relationship with Ms. Lavender Brown, which had further deteriorated his marriage. On top of that, Mrs. Potter had defended her brother in public, straining her relationship with Mrs. Weasley. It was only the relentless effort of Mr. Potter that had kept the Golden Trio intact.

No more. Tom had heard that Mr. Weasley had moved in with Ms. Brown, Mrs. Weasley was currently living alone in the mansion she had formerly shared with Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Potter had moved back to her maternal home, and Mr. Potter was currently residing in the Leaky Cauldron.

He wondered what had happened that had ripped them apart so.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was, by nature, a woman who cared nothing for what the world might say about her. If she imposed new laws on the Ministry's association with Hogwarts, then she put new laws, and if she decided to dance about in pink lingerie, then she was dancing in pink lingerie, to hell with everybody else.

Today, however, she was worried. It was a Saturday during summer, and she was supposed to meet her former student, and now confidant, Molly Weasley, for lunch. However, the matronly Mrs. Weasley was late, something that was quite common in the early years of her marriage, what with seven children to look after and all, but had increasingly decreased in the latter years, with the marriage of three children, the death of one, one living abroad, and two successfully living in their own establishments, with above average monthly incomes.

Perhaps she was visiting George Weasley. After the death of his brother, the one-eared twin had become reclusive and unsociable. He ran his shop in Diagon Alley with the same measures that he and Fred had decided upon when Fred was alive, but preferred to hire assistants to perform the job for him, staying upstairs in his private quarters. He rarely ventured out of his abode unless it was an absolute emergency, or a family gathering. Minerva knew that Molly grieved this change in her son, and often wished that he would turn back to his former, happy self. Sadly, Minerva knew that it was impossible – Fred had been part of George, and when he had died, George had died too.

The rest of the family was fairly well off. Arthur had been promoted once again, now the Head of the Department of Muggle Interactions and Defense against Dark Magical Objects, receiving a handsome salary. The Weasley's would never have to worry for money again, no matter how many grandkids they might have. William and Fleur were living happily in their little 'Shell Cottage', William commuting daily to Gringotts to work, and Fleur staying at home to look after their little daughter, Victoire. Charlie was, as of the present date, single, and was still in Romania, working with the dragons despite his mother's pleas for him to come home. Percy was in friendly relations with his family and held a high-ranking post in the Ministry, just like his father. Ronald was playing for a popular Quidditch team, and although there were some rumours flying about, Minerva had dismissed them as vicious gossip. He was happily married to her former student, Hermione Granger. Minerva had attended their wedding, and also that of Ms. Weasley to Harry Potter. Yes, the Weasley family seemed very well off, indeed.

Suddenly, an owl zoomed out of the sky straight towards Minerva, landing in her soup and splattering it all over her. Disgusted, Minerva muttered a quick 'Scourgify' before opening the scroll on the disgruntled owl's leg and reading.

_Minerva,_

_An urgent family matter has come up. My deepest apologies for not being able to meet you. Perhaps we shall meet next Saturday._

_Yours, _

_Molly Weasley_

Minerva rolled up the letter, staring at it thoughtfully. She wondered what could have possibly kept Molly.

Oh well. She would get to know next week.

She got up and walked out of the little café.

* * *

__**I am curious to hear everyone's responses to this story. Please review. I will give you cookies in the form of an update.**

**Also I will be starting a new story very soon. Its a Twilight fanfic. Please check it out.**

**Love (and thirst for reviews),**

**~conorlover~**


	4. Secrets through Cracks

**Yes. Yes, I know that this chapter is grossly overdue, but all I can say that my imagination temporarily parted ways with me, and other stories distracted my attention. **

**The first cracks start to be revealed in this chapter, so I hope that you enjoy it. And I hope even more fervently that you express that enjoyment in the form of a review.**

**Also, just as side notes, I would like to point out that I have started two other Harry Potter stories since then. They're still in thei infancy stage, but I hope they will progress fast now, and soon become fully developed. **

**The first one is Memories of a Death Eater. It has a pairing of Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black. Its out of order, and full of angst. Its also rated T.**

**The second is The Chosen One. It has a pairing of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Its a 'Neville is the boy-who-lived' story. It's just barely started. It's also rated T. **

**Thanks,**

**~conorlover~**

* * *

Chapter 4

Secrets through Cracks

She remembered that she had put her arm around him once, when he was sleeping, to pretend that he was hers, if only for a second. He had sighed and pulled her closer to him, draping himself around her. Her heart had skipped a beat, and, for a moment, she had allowed herself to visualize a future that was nonexistent.

But then she had seen the thin golden band on her finger, a noose, a tie binding her to the one man she wanted to be as far away from as one could possibly be. It was eternal, unchanging. She would always have that noose round her neck, and he, too would forever be bound to someone else. Someone that he loved, and who loved him back. Someone whom she was hurting very much right now, but didn't care, because she was a selfish, cruel woman who only cared about her own desires and satisfaction.

It was no wonder that the world hated her. It was a surprise the no one else had thrown an Avada Kedavra in her direction already.

It was better not to dream about dreams that wouldn't come true. It only hurt so much more when you were brought back to the harsh shades of reality.

* * *

"The startling increase in the population was noticed only after the 1980's, as better medical supplies made it possible for the aged in Third World country's to live longer. Britain, on the other hand, noticed both an increase and decrease in its population – the native British were procreating less frequently, but with Britain's name firmly established in the list of developed, First World countries, the citizens of poor nations generally migrate to Britain to work, as they can find gainful and better-paying employment here. This, of course, has led to a slight differentiation in the amount of wizards in the Magical World, as wizards do not generally tend to migrate unless fleeing from dictatorial rule However, some people, like Cho Chang's parents, for example, are migrants from a relatively backward country, China, and the Patil twins in my year were from India, another relatively backward country with an oversized population."

"That doesn't add up - there's barely any foreign descendent students in Hogwarts during our time. If nearly 33% of the population is non-ethnic, like you said, then shouldn't the availing figures also be the same? However, I can safely say that I only noticed about 5% of Hogwarts' school body to be non-British by descent."

"That's because most parents prefer to send their children abroad to their own countries, where they are taught their own culture, or do not come to Britain at all. The wizarding world has remained relatively stable over the last few centuries. The only major blips that took place in its record were Grindelwald and Voldemort."

He winced just a little when she said his name, because, he, after all, had seen him first hand and been under his wands power. Quickly getting over it, he continued with the discussion.

"If parents prefer to send their children to their own cultures, then why do they migrate to Britain at all? The wizarding world is fairly stable and equal in terms of safety and income, you said. Then why migrate to Britain at all? Since most wizards live a life completely divergent from that of muggles, the muggle state of being and economy should not bother them at all."

"Most non-indigenous wizarding families that you see in Britain now migrated here during the Grindelwald era. Because of Dumbledore, this seemed the safest place to come. Economic stability, while important, has nothing on personal and familial security. A person would beg to eat if it meant that his family would be safe, you know."

It was an overcast day, and she was wearing robes to match. Steel gray and formal, severe. He wondered if she had some official duty later today.

Mrs. Weasley – no, Hermione – smiled at him, clearly pleased at having found a willing listener to her thoughts on the increasing influx of Muggle migrants into the United Kingdom. Although he had not managed to glean anything personal from her in the last hour – another failure to add to his rapidly elongating list – he found that he did not mind. Muggle culture and behaviour was so fascinating. Cedric had refrained from taking it in his third year out of peer pressure and the fact that nobody he knew would be able to help him in the subject, but now he wished that he had studied a little of muggle culture and behavorial patterns. How could another race, similar, and yet so very different, exist right beside them with him knowing nothing about it.

"I'll tell you about Hitler next week," Hermione said, putting her little yellow legal pad back in her tiny, magically extended handbag. "The similarities between muggle and human mindset were so prominent at that time, I wonder how anyone didn't notice it."

"Hitler?" he asked, confused.

"He was a historical figure, and a rather infamous one, if I might add," she explained, picking up the little beaded bag. "He was a German, and Britain fought a war against him in the late 1930's and the early 1940's. But I don't suppose that it affected the wizarding world in any way, so there's no reason for anyone on the other side of the border to know."

He leaned back in his chair, eyes again focusing on her severe wardrobe. Unbidden, the question slipped out. "Are you going to some meeting later?"

She seemed surprised at his question, then answered. "Yes, there's an executive meeting of all the Heads of the major departments today at twelve. I suppose I shouldn't have been so very formal, but there's a few discrepancies amongst the paperwork, and I do have a meeting with some prospective immigrants from Romania…"

"Romania? What for?" he asked, puzzled.

She frowned and bit her lip, obviously unhappy with the said Romanians also. "Something about a dragon breeding center. What I don't understand is why they would choose Britain of all places to open a dragon breeding center. We have one of the smallest all-wizard area in all of Europe, not to mention the fact that the Department for Magical Creatures would make their life hell, what with all of the paperwork and lease sanction problems. I don't understand why they wouldn't apply in France or Belgium, which are relatively magical creature-friendly countries. Of course, Romania itself is the best for dragon breeding – nearly 8% of the government's revenue comes from it, in fact. Perhaps I will set up a committee to verify their story…" she finished, decisively biting her lip.

"Well, Romanians or no Romanians, I hope you have a very pleasant day," he said, smiling heartily. "And don't forget, next Monday at 10 sharp."

She snorted. "As if I ever forget anything, Cedric. If I did, then Harry and I would still be camped out looking for ways to defeat Voldemort."

She smiled, then, and left. He had been looking for a relaxing time, but suddenly, when grasped with a cookie, startled up.

It was the first slip ever. She had inadvertently revealed some information that she hadn't meant to. And it was in pleasant conversation. Well, if that was all it needed, he should have utilized it years ago.

He briskly strode over to his enormous filing cabinet, which was hidden behind some very expensive curtains. Pulling the curtains apart, he promptly drew out his wand and murmured "Accio Hermione Weasley's file."

A thick black ledger came zooming towards him. Deftly catching it with his hand – he had been a seeker after al – he stopped for a second, adjusting his arm to its weight. It was not the thickest file that he had – those would be the more clinically depressed patients who had been coming for years – but it definitely held its weight for someone who had only been coming for a few months. Most of the information inside was gibberish, consisting of what he had been able to discern about her living habits. He had pored for hours over it, trying feverishly to find a single slip or hint or clue, and had failed miserably. He had been unenthusiastically looking forward to another such night tonight, when a single phrase had opened up a new route.

He hurried back to his desk and opened the enormous folder, the pages fluttering as he did so. Dipping his eagle feather quill into the expensive, first class ink that had been a birthday present from the former Minister, Cornelius Fudge, he promptly scrawled a few words into the ivory-white page.

_Patient mentions search for solution to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named in very end, informal manner. Comments on the fact that she and her friend 'Harry' would still be on the search if she forgot things._

_Minor discrepancy. Patient was on the search with said friend 'Harry' and current husband 'Ron'. Possibilities?_

_Deliberate omission? Unlikely. Patient has refrained from mentioning her husband in the past, but has been very careful in her words not to omit him from something. _

_Unnoticed and surprise omission? Likely, but to what result? Relation between patient and said husband are notably strained (*discerned from media coverage and patient's own behavioral context of avoidance of any topic relating to said paramour). Nevertheless, patient has been very careful to maintain a very generic-looking relationship between them, carefully crediting him in several of her past memories. _

_Possible conclusions: Patient has tried to make a blanket coverage of husband, thus trying to block out painful memories. _

_(To be added)_

It was weak. But it was present. Maybe, just maybe, it could lead to something. And then he would finally get to solve the great riddle that was Hermione Weasley.

* * *

The little girl was tugging on her father's hair, pulling his cap lower.

Dean pursed his lip as his hand moved fluidly, capturing the scene on a sheet of paper. It was these moments, moments in which a person would be so completely unconscious and uncaring about how someone else was seeing them, that he loved best. The scene before him was so sweet, he could hardly resist. A tiny little blonde pigtailed girl had come for a chocolate sundae with her father, and he could see the tiny bits of ice cream still stuck to her cheek. She was playing with him, pulling at his cap and hair as he lifted her higher and higher. Looking at it, he was reminded of one of the pictures at his mom's house, in which his own father had been lifting him the exact same way.

He put the last touches on the little girl's face, and smiled at the picture. It was a perfect memory of times that would fade so very soon. No parent could ever really bear losing a child. He knew that experience first hand. But now wasn't the time to think of it, not on a bright, sunny Monday afternoon sitting under one of the umbrella's outside one of London's favorite café's.

A slender, white hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up smiling as he saw his companion. She smiled back at him, the sunlight highlighting the golden strains in the mahogany hair that framed her heart-shaped face.

"You're late," he said with ease. He had been waiting for some time, but he didn't mind. It had been gainfully employed.

"I know," she replied, gracefully moving around the table to sit on the plastic chair on the other side. "I couldn't help it – all those foreign immigrants, and the meeting with Kingsley ran late. On top of that, Grissom refused to help me, so I'm on my own now."

"Grissom? Henry Grissom, from the Department of Magical Creatures? Why would you need help from him?" he wondered. She was usually so independent, refusing to take anybody's help.

Hermione smiled, pushing a lock of stray hair behind her hair. "I thought I would get a little back info on some Romanian's that have been plaguing me for an immigration permit to open a dragon breeding center in Britain. I thought something was off, so I requested Grissom to help me out. He refused. Chapter closed. Is the salad any good."

"Not for lunch, it isn't. It's the veal today, and nothing else. Robertino really went all out on it. Half of London's out here gobbling it, so be sure to order soon."

Her laughter cut through the warm haze like butter through a night. "Dean, if _this _was half of London, well then we wouldn't have any population issues at all, and half the paperwork lying in my office would be nonexistent. Not to mention your housing problems would disappear in a flash, too. Did you get anything apart from the student dorms?"

"Not yet, though I've been trying. Most of the apartments I look at have insanely expensive rents, and the ones that already have a tenant just don't have a spare room or aren't interested in living with a black guy."

Her mouth fell open. "Dean, that's awful! Don't tell me they really were that racist – this is twenty-first century Britain, after all. Surely a difference in race would matter?"

"Well, most of them didn't say it to my face – I guess they were worried about any racism charges. But there was this one guy who yelled at the guard to "Get the fuckin' nigger outta his building," so I don't have any problems understanding that."

"It's times like these that I feel good about the wizarding world. No matter all its blood prejudices, at least it was secular and non-racist throughout history. I can't believe that not even a single battle took place in the name of religion."

The waiter, a bright, fresh-faced fellow probably in his college years, came. She ordered the veal, and he the same.

"Have you thought about it? Living on the other side of the border, I mean."

"I did for a little while, but it just isn't possible. For one thing, the rents are impossibly high, and they're in galleons, for God's sake. How is a poor young artist in art school supposed to come up with cash like that? And on top of that, Diagon Alley doesn't have much affordable tenements that are open to Muggle-born's. The Leaky Cauldron is pretty nice, but just a teeny bit outside my price range. Besides, its too far from where I work, and I can't apparate in the middle of London, you know. I guess I have to get some place that's close to the coffee shop, and the book shop, and the boutique, _and _the university."

"There is another option, you know." She looked up beseechingly with great big mahogany eyes that vaguely reminded him of a puppy.

But he was firm in his decision. "No, Hermione, no. There is no way that I'm accepting any charity from you. If I have to make my way in this world, I'll do it on my own two feet, without being held by the hand like a helpless toddler."

"But it isn't really even charity! Just a bit of – of financial assistance, that's all! Besides, its not like I'm really even giving you my money. Just look at it like a loan, or as payment for all those beautiful paintings you gave me! I have to pay for them, you know."

"They were a gift," he said quietly. Something subtle in his voice had changed, and she shrank back into her chair like a meek little girl, knowing that he was firm this time, and that he would be upset if she pressured him more. "If you make any sort of payment for them, I would consider it an insult of the highest order."

They were quiet for a minute, and she looked upset. He was anxious – she was one of his closest, no, _only _friends, and he didn't want to drive a wedge between them. Had he been too cold? But he didn't want to always be spoon fed. He wanted to make his own way in this world, to stand up on his own two feet like a man, to be responsible for himself.

But, in a moment, the clouds cleared from her face, and then there was sunshine again. "Did I tell you about Luna? She's planning to go for another Crumpled Snorcack expedition. Wants to leave that crazy Bonnie in charge of the Quibbler. I tried to back her out of it – Merlin knows that she ends up coming home with that awful allergy every time after those expeditions – but she won't listen to me. And Xenophilius isn't any help either. I thought he would be upset about leaving the Quibbler in the hands of a non-Lovegood, but he's completely absorbed with the expedition. He's absolutely sure that they've found it for sure this time – and in Sweden, no less!"

"Well that's Luna for you," he replied back easily, mimicking her smile with one of his own. He could hardly prevent himself from smiling when she did. And besides, Luna was another person on his friend list, even if one that he listened to rather dubiously. You could never _truly _understand what she was saying. "Once she's got a Snorcack on her mind, that's it. She's not going to let this go, you know – you just have to let her go, and when she's disappointed, make her some Gurdyroot tea."

She pulled a face. "Oh, that disgusting vegetable! I'm not even sure that it _is _a vergetable, you know. I always get the feeling that I'm swallowing a little bit of Venomous Tentacula along with it. Maybe it's a cross breed…"

"Knowing Xenophilius, that's far from unlikely. I wouldn't be surprised if he snuck out one night to steal some from the Hogwarts greenhouse when he was in school either. That kind of mundane, prankish, eccentric thing seemed right up his alley, I think."

"Oh, absolutely! You would not believe the things he says. All after I saved his life, too…"

Her brow creased as she relieved her memories of the war. He hastened to change it. He himself had lived through it, and those were some of the worst memories of his life. He knew that she had had it a hundred times worse – her tortured screams in Malfoy Manor still haunted his dreams, and he cursed himself a million times over for doing nothing to help her at that time. But now wasn't the time to be thinking of that either. It was a bright, sunny day, and not one overshadowed by anything darker than the fact that West Ham had lost once again.

"So what was it about those Romanian immigrants?" he said, trying to change the subject. He was relieved when it worked – the frown disappeared from her face, and the indignant sparkle returned to her eyes.

"You won't believe that pair. First of all, they come to England and apply for an immigrant status when this is their first visit! Can you imagine that! The very basic criteria for applying for even temporary residency is living in the country in question for at least twenty five years! And immigrancy requires so much more than that. You need a stable livelihood, which, by the way, these two gentlemen do _not _have, and some sort of connection to this country – whether it be a relative or a patron. Or else some valid reason to leave your current country. But there's no war or strife, no sort of commotion at all in Romania. They weren't even affected by the recent financial crisis in east Europe! Their economy is thriving on that, for that matter. And dragon rates are higher than ever. Romania protects dragon breeding by its national law, so not only does it make obtaining the license that much easier, it also grants them some state-related benefits! Not to mention that they're Romanian citizens, so they don't have through any sort of hassle at all. Now, in Britain, it's a completely different matter. Dragon breeding is _not _the most popular occupation, and its not exactly ga-ga in the Ministry either. They'll find it incredibly hard to get a license, not to mention that fact that the Department for Magical Creatures will make their life hell. And their immigration criteria is completely nonexistent!"

"Then why are you even considering them?" he asked coolly, finishing of the last of his meal. Robertino really had outdone himself.

"Because Kingsley doesn't want the Romanian government to think that we're snubbing them. Now, I know that the man is a genius in the Auror department, and he's a good Minister, too, but he does not know _anything _about the International Liaisons department!"

"Kingsley thinks that the Romanian government would think that we're snubbing them? Why?"

She sighed impatiently, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Because they feel like we're still far too cluttered. They've always been slightly frosty ever since the 56th Amendment to the Vampire Act – considering that they consider the vampire their national emblem, and he's protected under their law, I'm not really surprised. And then there's the matter about the War. They haven't forgotten Grindelwald, you know. Theirs was one of the countries that he was strongest in. His defeat by a British wizard slightly bettered their vision of us, but then Voldemort came along to ruin everything. They tried to close diplomatic relations with us once it became obvious that the Thicknesse government was just a sham, and they just about succeeded. They didn't want to be connected to another blood-purity maniac in any way. And even after his defeat, when the Shacklebolt government came to power, they were one of the most reluctant to open connections again. Kingsley kept on insisting that Voldemort was dead, and that the Death Eaters had disbanded, but they pointed out how the exact same tune had been bleated when Harry had 'killed' him sixteen years ago. They didn't trust our word, and they made very sure that we knew that. Even now, when they've opened communications, all we've been really doing is exchanging tentative dates from a meet between our Minister and theirs, to discuss trade policies. Moreover, with the war trials still going on, they've tried to distance themselves as much as possible."

"But what does that have anything to do with immigration?"

"If they think that we're denying two authentic Romanian citizens access into our country, moreover two citizens that perform the very activity that is protected by law in theirs, then they could go ballistic. It'll be like another Amendment all over again. That stupid law against vampires nearly caused us loss of an ally in East Europe. We know that region doesn't like us – Ukraine made it abundantly clear what with that forced detaining and torture of those witches about five years back. If Romania turns against us again – which is likely, considering their anti-Voldemort nature, and how shocked they were when he was so easily able to topple the Ministry, not to mention get the entire society under his control – then they could potentially influence Belgium, Serbia, Bosnia, Liechenstein, and Albania to turn against us. Albania is already miffed at the fact the Voldemort lived in their forests for _years_, while we did nothing about it. And because all of these were united post-Grindelwald, the connection is stronger than ever. He had a very strong hold over these countries. And that, coupled with the fact that we weren't able to protect Albus Dumbledore, their hero, from a very planned and certain death, well, they aren't exactly our biggest fans right now."

"And Kingsley's afraid that if you appear picky or dubious about Romanian citizens, then Romania will take offense and cut off all diplomatic relations with Britain?"

"That's right. I get some of the logic behind it, but we cannot just allow a person into our country without verifying why he is here. I'll try to explain it to Kingsley when I see him today, which is at exactly four 'o' clock."

He checked his watch. "Which is exactly fourteen and a half minutes later.

"And so it. Well, Dean –" she got up, pushing her empty plate away and dropping a few cash bills onto the table, "– thank you for a lovely lunch, and I hope you do something about your apartment pretty quick. We'll be meeting up for lunch next week?" she inquired.

"Absolutely. I'll owl you and let you know when I'm free," he said. His art class finished just before lunch time next Tuesday, and he hoped that he could use that slot.

"I must be going, then. Lovely to meet you, as always. Owl me about the time."

And with that, she briskly walked away.

Dean Thomas looked at the woman he loved walking with a strong, confident stride on the warm, illuminated pavement, with the sun in her hair, and then looked up at the sky – at that bright blue expanse of nothing, with little white fluffy clouds forming fantastic patterns.

Yes, today was a very good day indeed.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed it. And I'm a total review hog, so...**

**~conorlover~**


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